Impractical
by Ghost-Tongued
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets on my favorite crack and fanon pairings over different Transformer universes, following the "100 Moods" prompt challenge. Rating will change.
1. Old Age

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_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** light **background setting.

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**Author's Note: **Because I've so many pairings and triangles I love in this fandom, I can't help but make a one-shot for each on in dedication. Please pay attention to my author's notes so you which universes I'm writing from and if I'm branching off from my "Tough Luck" story (humanized Cybertronians).

_Universe:_ Transformers: Dark of the Moon; Cybertronian x Human

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**Prompt: Annoyed  
**_Pairing: Sentinel Prime/Charlotte Mearing_

She was a battleaxe, this one.

"Stop staring at me, robot," she snapped at him, light blue eyes flashing in warning behind thick black-rimmed spectacles.

It was two hours after midnight. The daily traffic and commotion of military personal, Cybertronians, and miscellaneous machinery had quieted down to a few armed guards pacing outside the doors, a technician working at a panel in the farthest region of the hanger, and two of the Autobots in stasis while Optimus and the others patrolled the city.

He scowled, straightening to his full height and crossing his arms across his worn, red chassis.

The ill-mannered femme was sitting at a terminal near the railing on the hanger's upper level, her slim fingers flying over the keys as she typed up a report, most likely on his awakening.

"Are all of you humans this disrespectful in the presence of the powerful and prestigious, or are you just the exception?" he sniffed scornfully, tilting his head up to stare her down condescendingly.

The rapid typing paused and she glanced at him over the rim of her glasses, those ice-blue eyes melting in the heat of her rising ire; however, she maintained an impressive rank of control when she spoke.

"Respect is not a birthright, Sentinel," she stated coolly, leveling him with a patronizing gaze that had him bristling. "I don't know how things worked on your planet, but here on Earth, respect is _earned_. And I can promise you that my twenty-eight years of military training and combat experience, successful government operations, overseeing delicate international liaisons, and following strict security protocols is _not_ going to be moved by a self-absorbed tin can who thinks he deserves reverence because he's bigger than me and older than dirt."

She then readjusted her black-framed glasses and turned back to the terminal, her fingers returning to their storm of typing.

He was rendered speechless by her snide words. Who was this unmannerly femme, talking to him like he was a mere sparkling? He was a _Prime_, damn it all! A powerful being capable of manipulating space and time with his very hands.

And this barbed-tongued woman was telling him that he wasn't anymore important than those under her command?

Affronted, he stepped closer as a way to display force, the beads that bound the braids of his facial cables clinking loudly against the iron bars of the railing; however, she refused to give him the light of day. Even her vital signs showed little change except for the faint tensing of muscle.

"If you're desperate for my respect," she spoke aloofly, not looking at him as continued to type up her report, "then you're sorely mistaken if you think trying to intimidate me will get you what you want. In fact, it'll only serve to prove my point."

He simply stood there, watching her quietly. He wanted to feel resentful rage over this puny fleshling's blatant insubordination. She was insolent, crass, and rude - made of the cruelest ice with that rigid self-control and unrelenting demand for proper behavior, orderliness, and regulation.

But even a fool could see what was smoldering just beneath that frigid exterior: a heated, formidable temper with a razor tongue, ready to reduce anyone to sniveling ball of tears and broken dreams if they crossed her. She was a force to be reckoned with.

He was unable to resist the smile pulling at his mouth piece, reminiscing on the memories of strong, fiery Cybertronian females and how he had to fight to the Pit and back to have them even look his way. Those femmes weren't awed by his prominent stance in society either and because of that, they had become a personal conquest of his in his youth.

"You're a scrappy little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled, the sound rich and throaty in the wake of the genuine amusement he'd felt for the first time since his revival. When she snapped her head up, offended astonishment and stubborn feminine dignity gracing her soft features, he saw that delightful temper smoldering hot in her frost-blue eyes. "I like my femmes scrappy."

He turned from her then and walked away, leaving her to sputter indignantly and stew in the heated flush that had risen in her cheeks.

Oh, yes, she was a battleaxe.

An _aged_ battleaxe. With chipped, dulled blades and a shabby, leather-bound grip, but was still a remarkable weapon that wasn't to be taken lightly.

Just because she couldn't render a quick, merciful killing blow anymore didn't mean that she couldn't crush bone instead, leaving her enemies writhing in agony.

He drew a fingertip up and down the length of his nose as he stepped down into the crisp, cloudless night, his enhanced audio receptors picking up the _Director of National Intelligence_'s voice as she scorched his name with contemptuous curses and oaths.

_Perhaps living on this planet won't be as tedious as I thought_. _Nothing like a conquest to keep the engines hot and revving, _he thought with a light, male grin.


	2. Obey, Part I

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_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** dark** background setting.

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**Author's Note: **Thank you, _Glowing Green Turtle_, for your kind words!

_Universe: _Transformers: Dark of the Moon; Cybertronian x Human.

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**Prompt****: Broken  
**_Pairing: Soundwave/Carly Spencer_

She didn't know where he was taking her, but after it was definite that Sam was going to comply with Dylan's demands, instead of releasing her, Soundwave merely peeled out and sped off the property.

The subsequent drive had been a silent one as he weaved them fluidly in and out of traffic, the growl of the engine powerful. It was as dark inside the cab except for the soft, blue glow of the radio clock and controls of the stereo system.

"You said I could trust you," she finally whispered, her voice wavering dangerously. She was trying to keep a strong front when everything in her just wanted to curl up somewhere and cry. "You lied to me. You never told me you were a damned Decepticon!"

_"Negative,"_ the throaty, synthesized voice stated through the surrounding speakers. _"I cannot deceive on that which was not inquired."_

She clenched a fist and lashed out before she could stop herself, giving a solid punch to the steering wheel.

Her seat suddenly lurched forward, throwing her hard against the accosted component.

She gasped in pain, her chest having slammed into the steering wheel. She was yanked back again when the seat reclined sharply, stretching her body out. The seatbelt snapped out and looped around her, strapping her arms and upper torso down against the seat.

_"Behave."_

"Let me go!" she shrieked angrily, kicking out with a vengeance, stabbing her stiletto heels against the dashboard, steering wheel, windshield, and radio.

An impatient, irritated snarl seemed to shake the entire interior of the vehicle.

Two of the six metallic tentacles that had threatened her not fifteen minutes earlier shot out from somewhere under the floorboards and snapped around each of her slim ankles, forcing her legs to straighten and part, her heels digging into the cushioned fabric of ceiling.

Heat bloomed across her face, humiliation rendering her momentarily speechless as she struggled in vain to close her legs.

_"Your previous lesson in obedience requires repetition. Insubordination will not be tolerated."_

Her eyes widened as her blush spread down her body, her skin prickling with goosebumps and her stomach clenching hotly.

As if he could sense the heated memories that arose in her mind and was confirming her fears, she felt the cool steel of another tentacle ghosting slowly up the back of her bare thigh, the back of her knee, and then curling gently around her slender calf.

"No!" she hissed, struggling against her binds, her mind racing. "I won't let you touch me!"

Another steel tentacle slithered up from under the reclined seat, its pinchers snapping at her face warningly as the crimson light of its eye scanned her coldly; emotionless.

_"Your permission had already been obtained."_

A scream of frustration welled in her throat, but she forced her down as she bit out through clenched teeth, "If I had known you were a Decepticon, I wouldn't have let you touch me then either! Do you hear me? This is rape!"

A quietly sinister chuckle rumbled from the speaker closest to her ear, and she jerked her head away when the offending tentacle tenderly brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face.

_"Illogical. Rape applies only to the unwilling, Carly Brooks-Spencer. We will see how unwilling you are."_


	3. Denial

**Recommendation(s):  
**_Page Width_: Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** dark** background setting.

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**Author's Note: **If you go to my profile, I've added links to images of what I envision specific Cybertronians' holomatter/humanized forms look like in my stories. Jut be warned that the link for Megatron has a mostly nude image, mainly to help color a certain piece I wrote in this chapter.

_CaMaRoFaN14_ - I love a good rare/crack pairing as well! Thank you for your kind words!  
_Glowing Green Turtle_ - Creepy in a good way I hope!

_Universe: "Tough Luck"; POST '07 FILM._

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******_WARNING: IMPLIED SEXUAL SITUATIONS._**

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**Prompt****: Crazy  
**_Pairing: Human!Megatron / Maggie Madsen_

She sighed softly, wearing a content smile.

She rested her cheek against the warm and slightly rusted chain of the swing, gently rocking herself on the balls of her feet and absently toeing the cool sand as she gazed up at the clear night sky.

Located at the end of a forsaken dirt road and hidden behind a rundown, collapsing farmhouse, the tiny abandoned playground was her little piece of paradise from all of the hustle and bustle of the inner city; from the stresses of work and financial issues; from the megalomaniac that was the humanized Decepticon warlord taking refuge in her apartment.

Well . . . maybe not the lattermost. Not until now, anyway.

For the nth time, she found her eyes straying shyly to the decaying picnic table holding strong against a tree. He was sitting on the tabletop, arms draped over his denim-clad thighs, broad back facing her.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, taking sanctuary in her mind as her eyes roamed over him, shamefully appreciating the thick muscles of his biceps and triceps that were exposed to the world in the sleeveless shirt he opted to wear.

Oh, how could the Fates make this unbearable bastard so sinfully . . . striking?

In the seven months since she'd taken on the regrettable responsibility of housing, clothing, and feeding as well as educating the transfigured robotic alien on human culture, she'd more that once found herself questioning just who was meant to be enduring the Allspark's "punishment".

His human age was _at least_ in its late forties. That was very much _twice_ her own age and _way_ out of her preferred demographic.

But his uncertain age was the last thing she ever thought about whenever he would often waltzed around her apartment shirtless, sometimes even _bare-arse nude!_ When she would shout at him in embarrassment to put on clothes, he would just sneer at her and make snarky comments about how petty and insecure humanity was against the natural body.

And apparently it wasn't an attempt to mess with her, nor was it a Decepticon thing. According to the complaints Sam had had about Bumblebee, it was an accepted and embraced Cybertronian custom.

"Fall in love with me."

The commanding words nearly had her falling out of the swing from astonishment.

"W-What?" she gaped, abruptly digging her heels into the dirt.

When he glanced at her over his shoulder, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as those coal-red eyes burned demonically in the dark. Even the energon crystals embedded in Behavior Collar shackled around his neck glowed eerily, casting a gentle blue hue over his jaw and upturned mouth.

"Put yourself out of your misery, girl, or stop looking at me like that."

Even though she glared at him indignantly, she couldn't stop the surfacing heat in her face. "Don't be ridiculous, Megatron. I'm not looking at you in any specific way, so kindly put a leash on that damned ego of yours."

She bristled when he chuckled deeply, and she watched as he swung those long legs off the picnic table and stepped down into the wild, overgrown weeds and grass.

"Defensiveness. How _predictable_." The smirk sitting on his mouth as he strolled lazily over to her was infuriating. "Your mind practically lays itself bare to me like a wanton little _whore_ whenever you're in denial. It's quite pathetic, really, how effortlessly readable you are."

She swallowed thickly, her hands gripping the chains of the swing to help ground the thoughts buzzing angrily around in her head. God, she hated him. Hated how he was _right_. Everything he did or said always had her spiraling out of control with her short temper.

A large, male hand grabbed at one of the swing's chains, pushing his impossibly massive stature in front of her.

With a jolt to her system, she quickly jumped out of the swing when she saw his other hand coming up to grab the other chain, attempting to trap her and force her to acknowledge him.

Her heart was pounding as she retreated from him, remembering very well the _last_ time he'd cornered her. And the times before _that_. It'd always ended with her panting and quivering from the stray traces of an explosive orgasm, pinned under the sweaty, overheated weight of his body with his breathless laughter cruel and mocking in her ear.

"If I felt anything _remotely_ affectionate for anyone," she tossed haughtily as she made her way to the pair of pink high-tops she'd discarded near the car, "it wouldn't be wasted on an arsehole whose incapable of returning the sentiment."

Her breath lodged fast in her throat when she was roughly grabbed by her arm and spun around, her nose brushing the expanse of his chest. The scent of warm spice and something inherently male teased her senses.

A hand suddenly buried itself in the cascade of her hair, fisting itself tightly in the mess of the thick blonde curls. Her own hands flew up to it, struggling to pry his fist open as her head was yanked back painfully, forcing her to stare up at the sneer and coal-crimson eyes regarding her with disgust and ill-contained anger.

"I've never liked your presumptuous attitude," he stated coolly, the demonic glow of his eyes making her shiver slightly. "You could live to be three hundred years of age and you would _still _never know all that I am. I am thousands of years your _entire species'_ senior, girl. So, I would suggest keeping your ignorant remarks to yourself lest you want to suffer my wrath."

She bore her teeth at him, her nails digging into the flesh of his hand. "Oh, big words coming from someone at the mercy of a Behavior Collar, thus at the mercy of _my_ wrath. So, you had better let go of me, you prick, before I make you regret it."

He smirked tauntingly and made a point to clench his hand tighter in her hair. "Don't think to threaten me, _Martha_. The controller isn't even in your possession. It's in your handbag. _In the car_."

She set her jaw defiantly against the pain arching along her scalp and the uncomfortable strain in her neck muscles. The last thing she wanted to do was give the sadistic creep the satisfaction of knowing the extreme discomfort he was putting her through.

"There it is," he breathed. The faintly appreciative edge in his tone had her glaring at him hotly. "Your hatred is glorious."

"Don't flatter yourself, Megatron," she hissed through clenched teeth as she continued in vain to free her hair from his grip. "I don't hate anyone. That includes you. I just lack the patience and tolerance to deal with your bullshit ninety percent of the time."

"Are you attempting to deceive the _leader_ of the _Decepticons?_" he purred lowly, dark amusement dancing mockingly in those unholy eyes.

He drew her closer, forcing her flush against the hard, unyielding length of his body, much to her feminine outrage at the way he was effortlessly manhandling her.

"As I said," he continued with a small smirk, and she flinched instinctively when he brought his other hand up and encircled it firmly around her neck, "your weak mind is incapable of fully processing the extensive measurement of my age, but you can find assurance in this: If there is _one_ thing I recognize - one thing I practically _embody_ - it's untainted _loathing_."

And then his mouth was crashing down on hers in a brutal display of dominance and possession that she'd known all to well in the last seven months.

And she was crazy - truly going out of her mind.

She felt disgust for him even as her own hands were on him in a wild fury, one viciously yanking the obscuring shirt from the waist of his jeans as the other clawed desperately at his belt buckle.

She felt hatred for him even as an insufferably arrogant chuckle rumbled against her bruised lips; even as she mewled when his hands released her hair and neck to immediately and unabashedly seize handfuls of her ass before abruptly dropping to his knees, pinning her between himself and the unforgiving ground.

So why, then, would she purposely set out to antagonize him every chance she got if it meant he would turn his attention to her?

Why, then, did she always have this terrible need for his touch?

Why, then, did she cry out his name when he whispered the demand darkly in her ear as he ruthlessly conquered her body under the cold, judging light of the moon?

But he had to have been just as damned bonkers, willingly touching her so intimately in spite of the constant vile jabs about how hideous and disgusting and weak and unappealing she _supposedly_ was in his eyes.

And it was in that exact moment, as she lay breathless under him _once again_, his fatigued laughter muffled in her hair, that she realized that he hadn't been laughing at just her.

All of this time he had been laughing at _himself_ and at the cruel irony of the current situation they seemed to constantly find themselves together in.

Before she knew it she was joining him in the cynical merriment of their unprecedented predicament.

Yes, they _had_ to have gone mental.

Completely and utterly mental.


End file.
